


You don't have to change a thing, (The world could change its heart)

by Squeaky



Series: The Soulmate Series (no one asked for) [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Artist Steve Rogers, M/M, OTP: Till the End of the Line, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, There is sex in this FYI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky
Summary: Steve knows he's ugly, and his ugliness is the main reason why no one has ever wanted to date him, let alone touch his Hand-Print to see if they're soulmates.And he's fine with that, at least on the outside, until he gets involved with his best friend Peggy Carter's final photography project, where he has to pose both naked and with the hotter-than-hell Bucky Barnes.Bucky has a body like a Greek Statue, and an amputated left arm that is adorned with a Hand-Print, which Steve most definitely doesnotwant to touch. Especially as Bucky's a judgmental asshole and their first encounter leaves Steve seething.But his anger at Bucky also inspires Steve to paint, which is both wonderful and terrible. Wonderful because Steve also has a final project due, and terrible because, in order to continue to be inspired, he'll have to see the infuriating Bucky Barnes and his compelling Hand-Print again...





	You don't have to change a thing, (The world could change its heart)

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual I must thank my incredible BFF [ Taste_is_Sweet ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet) for giving this sucker a great Alpha-read for me and talking me through needed adjustments even though her computer broke and she had to read it off her phone. She is absolutely the best and I love her. 
> 
> The inspiration for Bucky's prosthetic comes from:[ Advanced Arm Dynamics ](http://armdynamics.com/pages/what-you-need-to-know) who've already made the type of arm Bucky is using. This company is amazing. They've got videos!
> 
> The title is affectionately borrowed from the lyrically important[ Scars to Your Beautiful](https://youtu.be/MWASeaYuHZo) by Alessia Cara. Sad and sweet and empowering all at once. Give it a listen.
> 
> This is the third story in my abuse-of-tropes Stucky soulmate series. Clearly I'm a bit obsessed.
> 
> * * *

Steve Rogers traced the line down his chest, following it's reflection in the mirror. 

The scar was a light pink and at least as wide as his index finger, neatly bisecting his chest from an inch under the top of his sternum to just above its bottom. He breathed deeply, noting how the expansion of his rib cage caused the scar to lift slightly with the movement of his chest. Its colouring was particularly garish against the paleness of his skin, making it look like the wound was fresh instead of over three months old. The surgeon had said that the scar would continue to fade over time, but so far Steve hadn't seen it. 

He put his hands on his ribs on either side of his chest, breathing again and feeling how his fingers neatly fit into the spaces in-between the bones. 

He knew he should be happy that his heart had been so well fixed, and that the years of ill health related to his bad heart were now going to be a thing of the past. He still had asthma, and bad eyesight and he'd always need a hearing aid in his right ear, but the fainting spells, constant fatigue and shortness of breath were gone for good. His doctor had said that the whole world was open to him now; he could climb and swim and _run_ just like any other twenty-one year old man. 

He should be overjoyed. And yet…

He stared at his reflection. He had to stand on a stool so that he could see his chest in the mirror as his apartment hadn’t been built for someone as short as him. He was only five-two, painfully thin and far too pale, and his best feature were his deep blue eyes, which were always hidden by the lenses of his black-rimmed glasses. 

"I’m happy to be alive," he said to himself as he looked at his scrawny body. Truly he was. Being able to walk and go upstairs and even _breathe_ without feeling exhausted was worth any scar the physicians wanted to give him. 

And yet…

"I'm ugly." Steve pressed his lips together against that unpleasant truth. He might be healthier than he'd ever been but he was still as ugly as ever. Maybe more so thanks to the new scar. 

He looked down at his body again, but this time he focused on the Hand-Print that covered part of his groin and the base of his penis. 

It was an ombre of silver fingertips brightening to a red palm, so from a distance it looked like the base of his penis was bleeding. Steve had always assumed it'd be a man's hand both from its size and from his own personal preference of partners. But then again, he'd always assumed he'd actually find the partner the Universe had meant for him. 

But the Universe had made him so sickly that the only people who'd ever seen Steve naked besides his mother had been medical professionals. Thanks to his constant illnesses, Steve had never had the time to invest in romantic relationships. He'd been too busy trying to stay alive. He was twenty-one and he'd never had a major make-out session let alone a boyfriend who might have wanted to touch him so intimately.

And now, with this new scar, the chance of that happening was even more remote. 

The Universe might have given him the Hand-Print of the best match for him, but it didn't mean his soulmate would be a saint. He was a boney, tiny man with a scar bisecting his chest. And who in their right mind would be able to look past that to even want to see him naked?

Steve blinked his eyes behind their lenses, willing himself not to cry. He took a deep breath, forcing his sadness down. He was meeting Peggy in an hour. He couldn't stay here feeling sorry for himself. There was no use crying over what he couldn't change. Life would go on, even if he was destined to be alone. 

He took one last look at his Hand-Print, mocking him with the pretense he'd be desired. He wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom.

* * *

"Please Steve," Peggy said. "You know you'll be perfect." 

Steve was sitting in the cosy living area of the house Peggy Carter shared with her soulmate, Angie, and three other women just off campus. Even though they were both in Arts programs, Peggy and Angie hadn't met until the night when Peggy had put her hand on the small of Angie's back to gently move her out of the way during a particularly crowded night at their local. Angie had been wearing a crop top, and it just so happened that her Hand-Print was right there, and Peggy was a match. Their soulmate meet-cute was like something out of a Hollywood movie. 

Peggy and Steve had a much more mundane story. They'd met in their visual arts class in grade ten after she and her family had moved to New York from London. They'd been best friends ever since. She was one of the only people on the planet who knew the actual location of Steve's Hand-Print who didn't have some sort of medical degree.

Steve took a deep breath. "Let me get this straight. You're asking to take a picture of me." 

"Yes." 

"Posing with someone else." 

"Yes." 

"Naked." 

"Yes!" Peggy exclaimed. "I'm asking you to pose naked for me in a photograph with another man. It's an exploration of male beauty. There's nothing sexual about it."

Steve made a face. "I wasn't worried it'd be _sexual_."

"Then what _are_ you worried about?" Steve could hear a note of exasperation in her voice. "You've posed for my pictures before." 

Steve decided not to mention that previously he'd been fully clothed and usually at a distance or it was a strangely close-up portrait of his eye. He went straight to the point. "Not _naked_ " 

"It's an exploration of male beauty," she repeated. "I want to show the impact of societal pressure on men through using models who are beautiful but not—" 

"—Stereotypical," Steve finished for her. "Yes, you said. That's why I came over to discuss it." 

"And you know you're perfect for that," Peggy said, apparently unaware of how backhanded a compliment that was. "So what's the problem?"

"I'll be naked," Steve said again. "With, you know, no clothes." 

"That is rather the point." 

Steve rubbed the scar on his chest through his shirt. "But my scar's still healing," he said. What he really meant was 'I’m too ugly,' but he didn’t want to say that out loud. Not to Peggy, who was one of the most confident people he'd ever met. Of course she was also stunningly beautiful, which probably didn't hurt. 

"The photos will be black and white. The scar will barely show at all." 

Steve might have been a visual artist rather than a photographer, but he knew enough about her medium to know that was a blatant lie. Black and white photos explored contrast. The scar would look like a dark line against his pale skin. It would probably look worse. 

"What about my Hand-Print?" Steve tried. It wasn't really taboo to show your Hand-Print, but some people were more conservative about it than others. 

"What about it? It's a part of you, isn't it? And I'm sure the man I've picked as your partner for the photograph has one, too. I've picked a great partner for you," Peggy said cajolingly. "He's very handsome." 

_Perfect,_ Steve thought. Nothing like posing with a gorgeous man to improve his self-confidence. Steve raised an eyebrow. "That really isn't helping." 

Peggy threw up her hands, aggravated. "Steve, anyone listening to you would think that you have a problem with your body!" 

"Maybe I do." He picked at a paint splatter on his jeans. 

Peggy went still. "You have a problem with your body?"

He shrugged, eyes still focused downwards. 

"But I don't understand. You're one of the most confident people I've ever met." 

"If you start running, they'll never let you stop. You stand up, push back…" He shrugged again. 

"Ah." She looked at him, consideringly. "So you have a problem with your body, but you pretend you don't?"

"Not going to start running now." Steve forced himself to smile.

"I wonder, how many men do you think feel the same?" Peggy said musingly. 

Steve looked at her. 

Peggy looked back.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Really?" He threw up his hands. "You're going with that?"

"It's the entire point of my work!" Peggy leaned forward. "That societal expectations—"

"Okay, okay!" Steve fell back against the couch, hands covering his face. "I'll do your stupid thesis project! Gah!" 

"Oh thank you! Thanks you!" Peggy gushed. "I promise you Steve, you won't regret it."

"I regret it already," Steve muttered through his hands.

* * *

It was unseasonably warm for the beginning of March, which made taking his clothes off in such a public place only marginally easier. 

Peggy had booked one of the studio spaces on campus, and had covered the windows with translucent curtains, so the light came in but it maintained the privacy of the people inside. She'd also cranked the heat so it wouldn't be that uncomfortable to be standing around naked. Well, except for the naked part. Steve still had to get undressed in front of someone he didn't know, and then pose with them until Peggy was satisfied. Peggy could be a bit of a perfectionist. The poses could take a while.

But this was Peggy's thesis project, and Steve had promised. So he made a point of arriving a bit early to the shoot and was unwinding his scarf as soon as he stepped inside. 

"Where do you want me?" He called down the short hallway that led from the internal studio doorway to the studio itself. "Are we practicing the poses first, or should I just get naked?"

"I don't mind if you get naked," a man said.

Steve gave an undignified shriek and turned around. 

There was indeed a man standing in the studio, and he couldn't look more opposite from Steve if Peggy had designed him to be that way herself. He was just about a foot taller than Steve, and dark where Steve was light. The man's skin was tanned, his hair a rich brown, long enough to touch his shoulders. His eyes were a stormy grey, set over wide cheekbones and the most perfectly even features Steve's artist eye had ever seen. He had broad shoulders, and even with his clothes on, it was obvious that he was muscular and strong where Steve was skeletal and weak. 

Peggy's description of 'handsome' hadn't gone far enough to actually describe the stunning beauty of this man, and Steve was very hard-pressed to understand how he could be anything but an example of typical male beauty, which kind of undermined Peggy's entire argument. 

And then Steve saw his arm. 

The man's left sleeve was knotted just above the elbow, showing that he was disabled. No matter how handsome his face and body was, that lack of perfection put him solidly into the category of 'other.' He wasn't as totally different from Steve as he'd thought, and the idea made Steve relax. Well, at least a little.

There was still the naked part. 

"My name's James Barnes," the man said, holding out his one hand to shake. "But you can call me Bucky." 

"Steve, Steve Rogers," Steve said, returning the man's grip. It was strong, but not crushing, which Steve appreciated. So often big guys felt the need to hammer home the point by squeezing his fingers until it was painful. 

Bucky rocked back on the heels of his steel-toed boots. "So, how'd you get involved with this?"

"Peggy's my best friend." Steve tilted his lips up in a smile. "Couldn't exactly say no. You?"

"My friend Natasha's Peggy's roommate." Bucky shrugged. "She thought it'd be good for me." 

Steve nodded. He'd heard of the formidable Natasha, a fierce red-head who was studying dance and choreography or something equally as intense. "Uh huh." 

"Yup." Bucky's smile was tight, clearly dreading the naked part as much as Steve. 

They descended into an uncomfortable silence. Steve finished taking off his scarf and his coat while Bucky just rocked back and forth on his heels. It was a huge tell of the other man's nervousness, which frankly Steve didn't get. Bucky was gorgeous. People would pay to see him naked. 

If anyone should be terrified, it should be him. The thought made him square his shoulders. _If you start running…_ He turned to Bucky with what he hoped was a confident smile. "So, think we should strip?" 

Bucky shrugged those muscular shoulders. "Might as well get it over with." In one fluid motion he pulled his shirt off over his head. His torso was lightly furred and very well defined and Steve felt his mouth go dry from a crazy combination of lust and fear. He felt his cock twitch in his pants and his cheeks flamed with embarrassment. There was no way he could get undressed in front of this gorgeous creature. Bucky seemed oblivious to Steve's inner torment. He toed off his boots and then maneuvered out of his jeans. They had Velcro at the top, which explained how he put them on one-handed. While he was occupied, Steve subtlety checked out Bucky's missing arm. 

It looked normal until the stump, where the fact it was injured was painfully clear. It looked like the rest of the arm had been torn right off his body by god-knows-what, and the surgeons who had tried to clean up afterwards had done their best to fix what was left but hadn't been too successful. It was a scarred mess of puckered flesh, and that was being kind. But it had a strange beauty to it, one that Steve could immediately see with his artist's eye. 

It showed power, and obvious courage and the strength to survive something that must have been awful. 

It also had a Hand-Print wrapped around the arm just above the stump, in a light blue colour, like someone was gripping the amputation without concern or fear. Steve was immediately drawn to it, and it was through only a painful awareness of how bad it would be to touch a Hand-Print without being invited that made him stop. It made him wonder who might've been lucky enough to touch it already; who'd be lucky enough to call Bucky their soulmate.

Of course Bucky noticed him staring. He was standing there in his underwear, fit and well-made from his perfect features to his six-pack abs to his strong legs to his well-shaped ankles. He was absolutely dazzling, but his expression was closed. It made Steve take a physical step back. 

"It was an industrial accident," Bucky said tersely, tipping his chin towards his missing arm. "I used to work construction. We were helping to lower the load from the crane onto the condo we were building and the line snapped. The payload swung down like a pendulum; smashed my arm into the load-bearing wall. Tore it clean off." 

"I'm so sorry," Steve breathed. 

Bucky shrugged, a lithe ripple of his shoulders. "You were staring. Figured you were curious. Most people are. I'm used to it now." He was looking somewhere beyond Steve's head, avoiding eye contact.

Steve immediately felt terrible. He had been staring, and he had been curious, but not in whatever way Bucky seemed to have gotten in his head. He had no idea how to fix it. 

The silence became even more awkward than before. _Where the fuck was Peggy?_ Steve would really like to get this done so he could leave and never, ever see Bucky again. Of course he'd have to get naked first. 

Steve closed his eyes for strength, and then stripped down to his underwear. He stood, back straight and shoulder's square like Bucky had done, but really he wanted to make himself as small and invisible as possible. He was so _ugly_ compared to this beautiful man in front of him. It was brutally unfair. 

He looked over and caught Bucky's eyes raking over his body, probably just as curious about Steve's scars as he'd been. Only Steve had looked with admiration, while Bucky's hooded look gave none of his thoughts away. Steve felt his temper flare. He knew he was ugly. This beautiful man didn't need to rub it in.

"The scar's from mitral valve replacement surgery." Steve sneered. "Not all of us can be born perfect." 

Bucky visibly started. "What?"

"Oh good, you're both here." Peggy bustled in, camera in hand. "Steve, meet James, James, Steve. Please remove your undergarments, and Steve, take off your glasses if you will. Let's get started. Shall we?"

* * *

It was the most humiliating hour of Steve's life. 

Peggy had gotten them both naked and posing before either of them could blink. The poses were basically them just…standing there in front of a white screen; sometimes looking at each other, sometimes at the camera. She had them look serious, sad, thoughtful, one where they were yelling, and then she tried to make them laugh, which was a big disaster. Thankfully Steve's burst of anger at Bucky's judgement meant that his super-awkward chubber had gone down, but the very inconvenient location of his Hand-Print was on full display. Bucky didn't even pretend not to look. 

In fact, Bucky was looking at him _a lot._ Every time Steve looked up at his face, Bucky was dragging his eyes back from some part of Steve's anatomy or another. It made Steve grit his teeth in annoyance. He knew that he looked like a starved freak from a circus side show, but couldn't this guy keep his eyes forward for ten fucking minutes? He was doing his best not to stare at Bucky's too perfect body, surely Bucky could give him the same courtesy?

Because Peggy had made him take off his glasses Bucky's expression was hard to read, but he was sure he didn’t need to see it to know that Bucky was trying to hide his disgust. He had to be. No one, except for maybe Peggy, could look at Steve and feel anything else. 

Steve was getting angrier and angrier and more and more humiliated with Bucky's stare draping all over him. He wanted to say something; he wanted to _walk out,_ but this was Peggy's final thesis and he didn’t want to leave his best friend in the lurch. 

Finally, after Steve was sure he was going to either kill Bucky or just drop dead from embarrassment, Peggy decided they were done. 

"That was just wonderful, gentlemen!" She beamed at both of them as she reviewed the photos on her extremely expensive camera. "These are perfect. I owe you both a pint, more definitely. Please take as much time as you need to get ready." And then she was gone, brown hair flying. 

Steve and Bucky immediately turned their backs on each other and began to get dressed. Steve put his glasses on first thing, glad that he could finally see clearly again.

"So that was pretty interesting, huh?" 

Steve flicked Bucky a glance over his shoulder. If he meant being totally humiliated by Bucky's scrutiny of his body was _interesting_ then yeah. He frowned. "You certainly seemed to think so."

"Well, sure," Bucky said. "I mean, I've never been photographed naked before."

Steve thought to how Bucky seemed to have spent all his time staring at him and he grimaced. "You seemed totally fine with it." 

"Me?" Bucky laughed and shook his head. "Nu huh. You were the comfortable one. You looked like you did not give a shit about being nude." He grinned.

Steve felt his eyes narrow. Of course Bucky would think that someone as ugly as Steve would have no right to feel comfortable in his own skin. He was probably one of those horrible assholes who trolled fat people, or those with intellectual disabilities or women with opinions. He was probably a card-carrying member of 4chan. Steve felt the back of his neck start flaming with his anger 

"Would you have preferred if I was crumpled up in a ball on the floor?"

Bucky bobbed his head back. "What?"

"I know what guys like you think," Steve spat. "I know—" he broke off, shaking his head. He was so _tired_ of these kinds of guys. Fucking cis gendered, straight, white men who had no idea of their privilege. Maybe Bucky had lost an arm but it clearly hadn't done anything for his perspective. It was too bad that Peggy had accidentally gotten one involved in her art project, but Bucky probably saw it as some kind of 'men's rights' issue.

Fuck Steve hated them. 

"You know what?" Steve shook his head. "I'm not interested. You think what you want." He threw on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck, wishing it was a bit shorter because winding it up was ruining his dramatic exit. Finally he got it where he needed it to be. "Have a nice life," Steve threw over his shoulder to Bucky and stormed out. He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.

He hoped that he'd never have to see James 'Bucky' Barnes, his shitty attitude and his perfect body ever again.

* * *

Steve had stayed pissed for the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon. 

He'd spent most of the day angrily throwing paint on canvas in his rented studio, which had actually ended up being a surprisingly good piece of art. He'd titled it _Appropriate Reaction to White, Cis, Straight Male Privilege, _and he'd decided to put it with his portfolio for graduation.__

Well, maybe. 

Unlike Peggy he actually had no idea what to do for his thesis project. Everything, from the inspiration to the execution, seemed to take actual sweat, blood and tears to make happen, and even though he'd been thinking about it for months, he still hadn't come up with anything. Steve had been feeling the pressure for a while and now there was only a month left to go before his non-existent portfolio of paintings were due. He didn't even have a theme yet, but he sure had his prof breathing down his neck to come up with something _heartfelt and meaningful,_. He grimaced at the one piece of art he'd just created, wishing he was more inspired. Apparently his spurt of creativity had burned out when his anger at Bucky had dissipated all over the canvas. 

_I should just go find that asshole and let him piss me off again._ Steve chuckled at the thought. But then he paused, eyeing his artwork for a second time. Could it really be that simple? Could purposely hanging out with that buff judgmental asshole give Steve the inspiration he needed to create his thesis? 

It couldn't hurt, Steve decided. After all artists were meant to suffer for their art. _Not that looking at Bucky could constitute suffering,_ Steve's treacherous thoughts supplied. He frowned at himself. It didn't matter if he found Bucky hot, the guy was a dick. And probably had met his soulmate already to boot. It was probably Peggy's roommate Natasha, of the flaming red hair and graceful dancer's body. Steve could never compete with that. Which was a stupid thought considering that he had no idea if Bucky were even into men, which was even _stupider_ because the guy was a judgmental _asshole…_

Steve reached for his brushes, feeling a flare of excitement along with his anger. He waited for the rush of creativity he'd felt before.

Nothing.

He wasn't just feeling angry anymore, he was feeling sad and inadequate as well. It was the antithesis of creativity. He put down his brushes.

He'd actually have to talk to Bucky if he wanted the same flurry of creative energy. He sighed. Not the best solution, especially as he'd never wanted to see the guy again, but as Peggy would say: 'Needs must,' 

Peggy would know where to find him. Steve pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

* * *

Peggy was strangely delighted to give Steve Bucky's number. So much so that she never even asked Steve why he wanted it. Steve was just as glad because he didn't feel like explaining his crazy idea to get motivated for his thesis. It even sounded stupid in his own head: spending time with an asshole so he'd be inspired by righteous anger and make art. Because apparently what moved him to create had to be more personal than reading about social justice issues on his Twitter feed. 

Now he just had to figure out what he was going to say to Bucky. 

He'd slept on it, but he'd woken up the next morning no more enlightened about how to start the conversation. _Honesty's probably not the best policy here,_ he thought. He rubbed at his scar. 

**Hey Bucky? It's Steve,** Steve texted. **The guy you saw naked yesterday.** He pressed send before he could change his mind.

Bucky's response came surprisingly quickly: **Hey Steve! Nice to hear from you.** Steve re-read it three times, just to make sure there wasn't some sub-text he was missing. Bucky had been judging him really hard before, and yet he was basically saying he was glad Steve had texted. It didn't make a lot of sense. 

"Probably because you haven't had anyone to make fun of since yesterday," Steve mumbled bitterly. Bucky was probably looking forward to having more nasty things about Steve to share with his friends. Fucking guy. **How are you?** He texted. "Like I care," he said out-loud.

 **Good! What's up?**

"I totally hate you," Steve said. **Nothing much,** he texted back. **You wanna hang out sometime?** He winced as he re-read what he wrote. He didn't even like the guy and he still came across as having absolutely no chill. He rubbed at his scar, wondering why his heart rate had suddenly sped up. Hadn't his operation fixed shit like that?

 **I'd really like that.** Steve frowned at Bucky's text. He might have zero experience dating, but even to his inexperienced eyes that looked…eager? Steve shook his head. He was probably reading way too much into it. 

Unless Bucky was just eager to take his picture and troll him on Reddit. _Judgmental asshole._

The little dots said that Bucky was still typing, so Steve waited until he finished. "Slow typer," Steve said meanly, and then blushed. Bucky had only one hand. How fast a typist could he actually be?

**But I'm just heading to the gym. Maybe later?**

"Damn!" Steve muttered. He didn't want to wait until 'Later.' He wanted to feel angry and get his project done now. He rubbed his scar again as he wondered what to do. But then it occurred to him, hadn't his doctors told him that he could safely do physical activity now? However beyond the gym equipment used by his physiotherapist when he was recovering, he hadn't really spent a lot of time in gyms, like, at all. He wouldn't know the first thing about working out and he'd probably look really stupid. 

But he really didn't want to have to wait for a better time to meet up with Bucky. 

He bit the pad of his thumb, thinking. Maybe looking stupid at the gym would actually work in his favour? For sure he'd be weak and clueless, which was practically an invitation for Bucky to stare at him again. This could definitely work. He firmed his mouth. **Could I come?**

**You want to work out?**

Steve knew his underfed body didn't make it look like he worked out, and in reality, he really hadn't, but did Bucky have to fucking rub it in? He grit his teeth in irritation, but then he smiled. His plan was working. Bucky was pissing him off already. 

**Yeah. Maybe you could show me your routine?**

This time there was a very long pause before the three dots started moving again and Bucky's next text came through. **I need to wear a prosthetic to work out.**

Steve tilted his head. He hadn't really thought about how Bucky would work out, especially as he hadn't been wearing a prosthetic for their photo shoot, but it made sense that he'd need some kind of assistive device to work out both sides of his body. It actually made Steve curious, wondering what that prosthetic would look like. **Okay,** Steve typed back. He wasn't sure why Bucky felt the need to give him a heads-up. Maybe he needed some help getting it on, or something?

 _Not that I'd mind helping Bucky get it on,_ his mind supplied with a leering grin. He felt his fingers twitch at the idea of touching Bucky's muscular body; his smooth skin; the compelling Hand-Print just above the stump of his left arm… 

"Stop!" He commanded himself. He did _not_ like Bucky Barnes. Perving on a guy who thought he was disgusting was the worst kind of pathetic. He glared down at his phone. 

Bucky had texted him again. **You're cool with me having a prosthetic?**

Steve's glare turned into a perplexed frown. Why wouldn't he be cool with Bucky having a prosthetic arm? That made no sense. **Why?** he typed before he really thought about it. **You going to hit me with it?**

The returned **LOL** was nearly instantaneous. **Not unless you ask nicely.**

Steve felt his lips curve up into a smile as he read the text, then he shook his head. Bucky was _not_ flirting with him. Or at least not on purpose. Bucky thought he was unattractive. He probably was one of those guys who flirted with everyone without even thinking about it. Like Peggy's roommate Pepper's soulmate, Tony Stark. That guy couldn't breathe without flirting. Bucky was probably the same. 

**When should I meet you?** Steve texted, putting the conversation solidly back on non-flirty ground. 

**Main athletic complex, half an hour? I'll meet you in the men's locker room** Bucky texted in return. 

**C U there,** Steve wrote, and then closed the window on his phone. Mission accomplished. He took a deep breath, and went to grab his bag to head out. 

He closed his eyes. "Fuck." 

He'd never been in a gym to work out in his life. He'd worn hospital gowns for all his physio after his surgery. He didn't own any gym clothes. Or sneakers.

He opened his phone app again and texted Bucky, asking if they could meet a little later. Luckily, Bucky seemed fine with it, so grimly Steve keyed up another contact. 

**Peggy,** he wrote. **Don't you dare fucking laugh, but can I borrow a pair of yoga pants and some sneakers?**

His phone lit immediately with her response. **Natasha's will probably fit you and Tony left his runners here. I think your feet are the same size.**

And then, just before Steve could believe she actually wasn't going to laugh at him: **ROFLMAO**. 

**Bitch,** Steve wrote. 

**LMFAO,** she wrote back.

* * *

Steve got to the men's locker room exactly on time. 

He'd been amazed to realize that his student card actually gave him full access to the athletic facilities, and he kind of wished he'd paid attention to that when he first started as a freshman at _Charles Xavier University_ four years ago. He wouldn't have had the strength to work out before the surgery he'd had that December, but it would've been cool to maybe use the sauna. 

He blew through the doors, wheezing from his jog across campus. Peggy hadn't let him leave until he'd explained why he'd wanted to borrow gym clothes instead of just going to buy his own, and 'surely his plan to get fit could've waited until he'd gone to the shops first?' He'd made up some bullshit story about wanting to see how it felt before he committed money, and for some reason she bought it. But he'd still taken longer than he'd wanted, thus his need to run.

And even though it was really cool that he could run for the first time in his life, running was fucking terrible.

Now he was standing in the change room, hands on his knees, sucking in oxygen like he'd just run a marathon instead of maybe 1/16 of a mile. 

He'd found Bucky in a secluded area in the back. He looked surprised at Steve's wild entrance, but also mostly fucking amazing in basketball shorts, ankle socks, sneakers and nothing else. His body was as incredible as Steve had remembered, only this time his hair was pulled back off his face, so every inch of his perfect features were visible as well. And in contrast, Steve was red-faced and wheezing and fucking _dying_ in front of him. 

Fuck he totally hated this guy. 

"Are you okay?" Bucky immediately came over to him and began rubbing his back, which was both totally humiliating and strangely soothing. Steve didn’t have enough breath to answer, but he nodded his head to convey the fact that he wasn't really going to drop dead. He managed to slide his backpack off his back and fished around in it until he found his Ventolin. He inhaled a healthy dose, and then another for good measure. 

Maybe he should've taken it before he ran across campus. 

"I'm good," he wheezed finally, stepping away from Bucky's ministrations. He then had to pretend to himself that he didn’t immediately miss the contact and actually didn't want to throw himself directly into Bucky's arms. 

"You asthmatic?" Bucky was eyeing the blue puffer Steve still held in his hands with skepticism. 

"Yeah." Steve nodded as he slipped it back into his backpack. "But I'm fine. Really." 

Bucky had now shifted his skeptical gaze from the puffer to Steve. "You sure working out is a good idea?"

 _Says the guy who looks like a brick shit house,_ Steve thought sourly. "I'm fine." 

Bucky shrugged. "Okay." He went back to where he'd left his gym bag on the bench.

Steve turned his back and started to get changed. He toed off his shoes and took off his shirt, painfully aware that you could count all the vertebrae in his spinal column and all his ribs without too much effort. At least he didn’t have a massive red scar down the middle of his back. That had to count for something. 

He put on one of his old t-shirts, shucked his jeans and then pulled on the tight-fitting yoga pants that Natasha had lent him by way of Peggy. As Peggy had predicted, they fit perfectly. 

He heard Bucky clear his throat, and Steve turned around. 

"Nice pants," Bucky said. His cheeks were red. 

Steve narrowed his eyes in annoyance that Bucky was starting his nasty little comments so quickly. "Natasha lent them to me," he said with a sharp-toothed grin. Let him wonder why Steve knew his probable soulmate well enough to literally get into her pants. 

Instead of the jealous reaction that Steve was expecting, Bucky's smile was pure delight. "That is so cool that you two can share clothes." He refocused back on what he was doing. 

Which was when Steve noticed the sleek silver and black contraption that Bucky had slid his left arm into. Deftly he tightened a strap and then tightened a knob on the side by his armpit, and then he chose a claw-like appendage and snapped it into the top, where his hand would be. 

It was Bucky's prosthetic, and Steve had never seen anything like it. 

Steve couldn't help his immediate geeky reaction. "That is the coolest thing ever!"

Bucky looked up sharply, expression wary, but then he must have seen the enthusiasm on Steve's face, because he relaxed. "Like that, do ya?"

"Hell yeah," Steve breathed. He reached out. "Can I touch it?"

"Sure." Bucky dutifully held out his arm and Steve started feeling it all over. 

"It's made of carbon fibre and silicon," Bucky explained as Steve 'oohed and ahhed' over it. "Really light-weight but really strong, too. I can move the elbow and the wrist to where I need it to be for the exercise I'm doing, and then lock it into place so I don't have to worry about slipping." 

"Where'd you get it?" Steve said reverently, sliding his fingers over the moveable parts. 

"It, uh, was made for me," Bucky said. "By my prosthetist and my OT. I told them what I wanted to do, and they helped me figure it out. It's got a few attachments for the hand, so I can use it for more than one sport, too." 

"It's amazing," Steve said. 

"You really like it?"

Steve shot him a look. "Why wouldn't I? It's like Star Wars, but in real life." 

Bucky laughed, but then he sighed. "I wish more people felt like that." 

"What?" Steve asked, he turned his face towards Bucky's as he said it, sliding his hand up the back of Bucky's left arm where the sleeve met his skin.

"Whoa!" Bucky jerked away so fast that Steve nearly lost his balance. 

"What did I do?" Steve gasped in surprise. He wiped his now-tingling hand on Natasha's pants. "Did I hurt you?"

Bucky shook his head, now looking chagrined. "You just got near my Hand-Print. Sorry. It just kind of surprised me." 

"Sorry," Steve mumbled, feeling both embarrassed and angry at the same time. It was one of the worst social faux pas to touch someone else's Hand-Prints without being invited. The only exceptions were when the touch was accidental, such as what had happened with Peggy and Angie, or if not touching it would mean someone died. He'd been so caught up in Bucky's amazing prosthetic that he'd totally forgotten it was also where Bucky had his Hand-Print. 

But he was also pissed off because of how much Bucky had reacted. Was the idea that Steve could be his soulmate _so_ repulsive that he had to freak out like that?

 _You're angry,_ Steve reminded himself. _If you're angry you'll be inspired to paint. That's good, remember?_ He forced himself to smile at Bucky. "I'll be more careful next time I fondle your prosthetic," he said.

Bucky's grin was entirely too suggestive. "Just let me know when you want to fondle me again. I'll be ready."

Steve blinked. What the fuck? "We should hit the gym," he stammered, grabbed his water-bottle and bolted for the door.

"Wait!" 

Steve turned at Bucky's command. Wide eyed.

"You probably want to bring your Ventolin,' Bucky said, gesturing at Steve's back with his futuristic appendage. The flirty grin still there. "Unless you want me to give you mouth to mouth?" 

"Ventolin," Steve said faintly. What the fuck was going on?

* * *

Bucky put on a shirt for working out which, Steve bravely admitted to himself, was kind of disappointing. 

"So," Bucky held the door open for Steve as they entered the workout space. "What you up for?"

Steve stopped in the doorway, mouth hanging open. He knew _Charles Xavier_ was a wealthy school—they'd certainly given him enough scholarship money—but he'd never seen it on display quite like this. The gym was full of sparkling workout equipment that looked nearly as futuristic as Bucky's prosthetic. 

It was also full of really, really beautiful people getting their fit on. Steve immediately felt brutally self-conscious in his borrowed workout gear and tiny, very un-muscular body. 

He cleared his throat. "I, uh."

"What do you want to work on?" Bucky came up beside him, gesturing with his prosthetic arm. "Arms? Chest? What?"

"Arms," Steve blurted, then blushed. As soon as Bucky had said 'arms,' he'd started thinking about Bucky's Hand-Print on the back of his left upper arm, blue and oh-so-touchable. 

"Okay." Bucky grinned at him. "I was planning on an arms, chest, back day today anyway so that works well. C'mon." He led Steve over to one of the machines and showed him how it worked. 

Steve then preceded to have one of the best mornings of his life. 

Bucky was a great teacher. He was consistently kind and very patient with a great sense of humour that meant that Steve never felt stupid for what he didn't know. 

"You're doing great!" Bucky had enthused when Steve had failed after three whole push-ups. 

"Awesome!" he'd crowed when Steve had managed two sets of biceps curls with twelve pounds. 

"You're a machine!" he'd cried when Steve had been able to hold a plank for a total of thirty seconds. 

They ended the workout with a run on the treadmill, where Steve had managed five minutes before collapsing and Bucky probably would've kept running for two or three hours without pausing except to wipe the minute amount of sweat from his brow.

When Steve had told him his observation, huffing and dripping sweat back to the change room, Bucky just laughed. "You should've seen me when I'd just started." 

"When was that?" Steve snarked. "When you were embryonic?"

Bucky laughed harder. "Okay, yeah. I've played sports since I was little."

"Thought so," Steve said smugly as he followed Bucky through the change room and back to their secluded corner. "No one has a body like that by accident." 

Bucky shot him a look over his shoulder. "You trying to make a joke?"

Bucky's tone caught Steve off guard. "No? I just meant you've obviously been working out for a while." 

"Oh," Bucky said, looking chagrined. "Sorry. I just thought—well. My body _is_ this way because of an accident." He gestured at his missing arm. "I thought you were—" 

"Being an ass?" 

Bucky's smile was apologetic. "Yeah?"

"I get it," Steve said softly. And he did. How many people had made snide comments about how he looked? He rubbed at his scar, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Bucky had been really kind while they were working out, so much so that Steve had completely forgotten how Bucky had been judging his body the day before. Maybe he was trying to atone? 

"Does your chest hurt?" Bucky was looking at him with nothing in his expression but concern. 

_Why are you doing this?_ Steve wanted to scream at him. _Why are you being so nice when you think I'm so ugly?_ "No," Steve forced himself to smile. "The scar's been healed for a while." 

Bucky's mouth turned up with Steve's words. "Good to hear. I'd hate to think of you in pain." His storm-grey eyes held Steve's gaze and Steve felt his mouth go dry.

"I'm not in pain," Steve breathed. He felt like he was tilting, drawn towards Bucky like a small planet in the orbit of a brilliant sun. A _weak,_ tiny planet, like Pluto, which ended up actually getting kicked out of the solar system for not being good enough. And he really needed to stop with this ridiculous metaphor. Steve straightened, cheeks flaming. "But I'm sure I will be, after this workout." He plastered a smile on his face. 

The disappointment that seemed to flash through Bucky's eyes must have been a trick of the light. 

"Probably," Bucky agreed vaguely. "But stretching and some Advil can help if it gets too bad." He pulled off his prosthetic and fished a packet of some kind of cleaning cloth out of his gym bag. "This is going to take me a bit if you want to have a shower." Bucky gestured towards the private showering areas at the back. 

Steve nodded and grabbed his clothes and towel that Peggy had told him to bring. He hadn't thought to bring any toiletries, but there were dispensers on the shower walls for soap, shampoo and conditioner that smelled pleasantly of limes. He stripped out of his gym clothes and stepped into the welcoming spray. The showers were more luxurious than Steve had ever experienced and he just stood under the rain-like flow of water, cursing his stupidity for not having used the athletic centre earlier in his university career. 

He cleaned his hair, and then conditioned it, just because the stuff was right there. He then rubbed the body wash all over himself, enjoying the slight tingle from the citrus. He slid his hand down his body to his penis, and not for the first time, he placed his own hand over the Hand-Print that was there. He had large hands, especially for someone his size, but the Hand-Print belonged to someone who was physically larger, the angle such that he'd need to be standing behind Steve and also be taller for his hand to cover the Hand-Print properly. Someone larger and taller, like Bucky. Steve's penis had started to harden merely from the thought of Bucky being the owner of the Hand-Print. He could easily imagine leaning his back against Bucky's rock-hard abs, Bucky gripping his penis just like that, gently at first, then stronger and harder as Steve started to come apart…

"You still here?" Bucky called from outside the shower stall, only a dim shape through the frosted glass door. 

"Yes!" Steve gulped guiltily. He immediately dropped his hand, face flaming despite the water running over his head. 

"I finished faster than I thought," Bucky said, hopefully oblivious to what Steve had been doing. "I'm just going to jump in here beside you." 

_Bucky. Naked. Right beside me._ Thanks to Peggy's project, Steve could actually picture what a naked Bucky looked like in technicolor. He could easily imagine the rivulets of water and soap running down the hard edges of Bucky's perfect body, the way his abs would flex as he ran his hand through his hair… His penis twitched with the thought, and Steve frowned down at it. _He's not your soulmate!_ He told himself angrily, and then he was hit with a wave of despair so strong that he had to put his hand on the tile for balance. 

Bucky must already have a soulmate. It was impossible that someone as kind and funny and gorgeous as him wouldn't already have been paired up by the Universe with a perfect match. Someone equally as perfect, like Natasha, or Peggy's other roommate, Carol, who was a brilliant, blond bombshell who was actually studying Aerospace Engineering. 

Someone that Bucky wouldn’t have to feel sorry for. Someone he wouldn't have to feel ashamed about being matched with. Someone who wasn't him. 

_Suck it up,_ Steve ordered himself fiercely. He was _not_ going to cry over this truth that he'd known since forever. He wasn't the kind of soulmate people wanted. 

He turned off the shower and grabbed his towel, wiping at the water on his face and the few tears that had managed to escape his best efforts to control them. 

"Jesus," Bucky said. "I'd forgotten how you look."

Steve's head snapped up. Bucky was standing in front of him, bare except for flip flops and a towel slung low over his hips. He looked exactly like a Roman statue. All marble-hard and perfectly carved lines. Even the missing arm was perfect. 

Which was very clearly _not_ what Bucky was thinking about him. And suddenly he was completely enraged. Every spark of anger he'd had the previous morning was now roaring through him; a bonfire of fury. "Oh yeah?" Steve snarled. "You forgot how skinny I am? How scarred? How _ugly?_ " He held the towel in hand, both arms outstretched, as naked as he'd been the day before. "Well, go ahead and look! Maybe take a picture! You can refer to it next time you forget—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Bucky said, bewildered. "Put some clothes on!"

"Too ugly to look at?" Steve taunted. "Am I offending your sensibilities?"

"What the fuck's gotten into you?" 

"You!" Steve said immediately, then blushed. That was part of the problem, actually. He'd love to have Bucky into him, in so many ways. But it would never happen. "You and your judgements!"

Bucky actually took a step back, eyes wide. "Judgments? Judgments of what? Wait, do you think I'm _judging_ you?" 

"Think?" Steve repeated. "I don't think. I _know_ you're judging me! You have been since you first saw me naked yesterday! And I've had enough!" Steve wrapped the towel around his waist with more force than the activity required, and stalked back towards their change area. He wanted to leave so badly he could taste it. He wanted to punch Bucky in the face on his way out. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to cry. 

It took him only moments to throw on his clean clothes and shoulder his backpack. He turned towards the door and nearly ran into Bucky, who was still in a towel and flip flops and nothing else. His grey eyes were dark with hurt and confusion but his mouth was a firm line. He held out Steve's gym clothes. "You forgot these." 

"Thanks." Steve just refrained from grabbing them. He stuffed them into his backpack, keeping his eyes down.

"I'm not judging you," Bucky said softly. "I don't know why you think I am, but I'm not." 

"Of course not," Steve scoffed. 

Bucky took a breath. "Look," he said. "Ever since…ever since my accident, Natasha says I'm not good with people anymore. So if I did do or say something to offend you. Well, I’m sorry." 

Steve stopped zipping the pocket on his bag and looked up in surprise. Bucky met his gaze, contrite and defiant all at once. It was obvious that he hadn't wanted to hurt Steve, but it was equally as obvious that he had no clue what he'd done. 

Steve's anger went up in smoke, replaced by an overwhelming, crushing weariness. If Bucky didn't understand that judging Steve's body was hurtful, how the hell was Steve meant to explain it? It was so painfully clear that Bucky thought he was ugly. But how could Bucky think that Steve knowing that wouldn’t hurt? He didn't even know where to begin. 

"Apology accepted," Steve sighed. Bucky's face started to brighten, but Steve shook his head. "But I don't really think that it's a good idea for us to hang out. Thanks for your help today, but please don't call me." 

He was so proud how his voice didn't shake when he said it. And equally as proud for not caving in the second he saw Bucky's smile turn into an expression of uncertainty and hurt. 

He left before Bucky could see him crying.

* * *

Steve went straight home.

His brilliant plan to have Bucky piss him off enough to spark his creativity had backfired spectacularly. Not only was he not angry, he was also so brokenhearted and despondent that it was hard to imagine being able to paint ever again. 

He lay on his couch staring up at the ceiling, the Netflix home screen open on his laptop on the coffee table, cheerily waiting him to continue watching whatever the fuck he and Peggy had been binging on the weekend, before he met Bucky-fucking-Barnes and his life went to hell.

Steve reached down and put his hand on his groin over his Hand-Print, feeling the material of his jeans under his palm. He squeezed his eyes shut against the prick of tears. 

No one was ever going to look at him as anything but a skinny freak. He was never, ever going to have anyone want to touch his Hand-Print. He was destined to be sad, and lonely, and alone.

His phone buzzed. He ignored it. It buzzed again, and again until it was too irritating to disregard. He grabbed his glasses off the coffee table and then pulled his phone out of his pocket with a grimace, checking to see who was disturbing him.

It was Bucky, who had texted: **Hey Steve, can we talk?** in about four different ways. 

Steve hated how his heart leapt at the simple messages, so excited because Bucky had reached out. He sighed and closed his eyes, putting his phone upside down on his chest. 

It buzzed again and against his better judgement, Steve lifted the phone to look. **I'm sorry,** Bucky had written. **And I know you told me not to contact you, but I'd really like to fix this. Call me, please?**

Steve paused, staring at the message. His fingers twitched with the desire to call Bucky, but he didn't move. Bucky was genuinely a nice guy. There was no way Steve could've spent the whole morning with him and continue to deny it. But Bucky still saw his body as something imperfect. Something that probably needed to be fixed or changed. Maybe the morning at the gym had been just a pity project. Get the skinny guy to actually exercise so he can finally meet societal standards of beauty. 

Steve chuffed out a humourless laugh. Peggy's project was bang-on. If only it hadn't kind of ruined his life by introducing him to Bucky and then solidifying the fact that his ugliness was something that just couldn't be overcome. 

He shut off his phone.

* * *

The next week felt like a blur. 

Steve went to classes. He took notes and paid attention as best he could, but the underlying sadness that had formed after he'd walked away from Bucky wouldn't go away.

Time was ticking away for him to finish his thesis project, but it was like his mind was scrubbed clean. He was an automaton stuck on repeat as each day felt like it was blending in with all the others. 

Of course Peggy noticed. 

"Whatever has gotten into you?" She said without preamble that Friday as she fell into step beside him after class. 

The weather had turned cooler, almost as if the sun had disappeared with Steve's mood, and Peggy was looking fetching in a sky blue light wool jacket. Steve was draped in his huge scarf over his jean jacket, so he was both too warm and too cool at the same time. 

Steve glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder. "Nothing." 

"Bollocks. You haven't sat with me all week. I haven't seen you at lunch, and you certainly haven't been in the studio. What's going on?"

"How'd you know I hadn't been in the studio?"

She turned to face him, forcing Steve to stop walking and the students walking near them on the path to have to move around. "I didn't until right this moment. Steve, what's going on?" 

For a second, Steve thought about lying, but then immediately decided against it. Peggy always knew when he wasn't telling the truth, and she'd just badger him until he caved. She was like a big sister more than a best friend sometimes, and he both loved her and hated her for it. He opened his mouth to explain how Bucky's continued, albeit unknowing, judgment of his body had really brought him down. If anyone would understand that, it should be Peggy, if her dedication to her thesis project meant anything at all. 

"Bucky thinks I'm ugly," he blurted, and then winced. That was completely not what he thought he was going to say. 

It was apparently not what Peggy thought he was going to say either. She blinked at him. "Bucky thinks you're ugly? Who the hell is Bucky?"

It was Steve's turn to blink. "The man from the photo shoot? Shoulder-length brown hair? Big blue eyes?" _A body like a Greek statute?_

"Oh, you mean James!" Peggy said. She frowned. "You think _James_ thinks you're ugly?"

Steve felt his face heat. He shrugged. 

"James does not think you're ugly." 

"You weren't there." 

"He doesn't think you're ugly. At all," Peggy said decisively. 

"You weren't there," Steve said. "You didn't see how he looked at me—"

Peggy cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Of course I was there. Who do you think took the photos?"

"I meant the day after when we went to the gym—"

"Irrelevant. He wouldn't have changed how he looked at you from one day to the next. And I am sure that James does not think you're ugly. Far from it, in fact." 

Steve couldn't decide if he should be exasperated that Peggy wasn't listening to him, or curious as to why she was so sure. Of course, his traitor of a heart betrayed him. "How can you say he doesn't think I'm ugly?" he asked, wishing he didn't sound so pathetically hopeful. 

"The photos—you know what? I'll just show you. I'll meet you at your apartment tonight. You can make me dinner." She checked her watch. "And now I must run, darling! I have the digital lab booked." And before Steve could even protest, she was gone.

Steve stood on the path, students moving around him like he was a stone in a river. Peggy was going to give him proof that Bucky didn't think he was ugly. He wanted to believe her, but he was so afraid that she was wrong. 

But what if she wasn't? What would it mean if Bucky didn't actually think he was hideous? What if Bucky had taken him to the gym because he enjoyed Steve's company? What if Bucky even found him attractive? The thought was alarming and exciting all at once. _What if?_ was buzzing through his brain like bees. 

"I'll make spaghetti," Steve said. At least that choice was simple.

* * *

Peggy arrived promptly at 6 pm with her big black portfolio and a bottle of inexpensive red wine. 

Steve immediately lunged for the portfolio, which Peggy then put behind her back. 

"No," she said. "I want to enjoy my dinner first. Mooning at James in all his naked glory will have to wait." 

Steve promptly blushed at her comment. He'd forgotten that they'd both been completely nude for the photo shoot, and while Bucky's body was a total work of art, he'd actually just wanted to see this mysterious thing that Peggy wanted to show him. 

So they ate dinner and drank the wine Peggy brought. 

"Do you have any ideas for your thesis?" Peggy took a sip of wine. She'd drunk more than half the bottle and was barely flushed. Steve, in contrast, had drunk less than two glasses and felt like his forehead was buzzing with a colony of very happy bees.

"Nope," Steve said.

"Steve! The final projects due in less than ten days." 

"I'm aware." In fact, when he wasn't in total despair over his non-relationship with Bucky, his non-existent thesis project was all he could think about. Not that his constant thinking had resulted in anything useful. 

"You must have some ideas." 

"Nothing." Steve shook his head. "Nadda. Zip. Zero. Ziltch. Nothing." He took another sip of his wine.

"Oh Steve," she said, brown eyes full of sympathy. "What happened?"

"Bucky happened." He stared morosely into his glass, too buzzed to even attempt to lie.

Peggy sighed. She stood and moved to the couch. "Get me my portfolio."

Steve jumped up and got the big black case from where she'd left it by the door and brought it to her. He felt sick, both from excitement and dread. Excitement in case the photos showed what Peggy thought they showed, sick in case they didn't—and also that the might. He honestly didn’t know how he felt. 

She opened the case and took out the photos.

It was a series of several 16.5 by 25 inch enlargements of him and Bucky in black and white against a pure white background and nothing else. They were shouting, or looking into the camera, or looking at each other, or laughing or frowning or any combination of the above. Every curve of muscle and line of bone; the scar on Steve's chest and the stump of Bucky's left arm; the blade of their cheekbones, the tendons in their necks, the lightness of their eyes, and even the intimacy of their Hand-Prints was on clear, prominent display. Steve gazed at the prints, letting his eyes rove over the image before he sat back and took the whole thing in. 

The pictures were stunning. 

He and Bucky looked young and pure; with an angelic beauty that was only heightened by their damaged bodies. The images were totally captivating and incredibly moving. 

But the reason why Steve gasped was because he could actually see what Peggy had intimated from their previous conversation, and he was speechless. 

Peggy had made him take off his glasses for the photographs, which meant he hadn't been able to see Bucky's expression clearly. He'd been anxious and angry when the photos had been taken, feeling the weight of Bucky's gaze, but not what Bucky was feeling. Now, with the clarity of perfect vision and third-person observation, he couldn't miss what Peggy had been talking about. He turned to her, eyes wide.

"I know," she said softly. "He's absolutely mad for you." 

It was true. In every single photo where Bucky was looking at him, his gaze was soft with wonder, like he couldn't believe that he was standing next to someone so beautiful. Only he wasn't looking at someone beautiful. He was looking at Steve.

"I don't understand," Steve said finally, after he'd looked through all the photos again. He wanted to deny what he was looking at, but it was impossible. It was all there in literal black and white. "The way he was looking at me at the photo shoot. When we were at the gym—he moved his arm when I almost touched his Hand-Print!" Steve shook his head. "It doesn't make sense." 

"Hand-Prints are very private." 

Steve couldn't argue with that. Even if his Hand-Print hadn't been partially on his penis, he wouldn't want people to just touch it. Bucky was probably no different. He looked at one of the photos again, one where Peggy had had him face forward while Bucky stood with his back to the camera. Bucky's Hand-Print was very visible, and Steve's fingers twitched to touch it, even just on the page. 

His eyes went back to one of the other photos, where Bucky was looking at him, eyes full of affection and maybe even desire? 

Peggy must have read the confusion on his face, because she leaned forward to put her hand on his knee. "You may be thin, and you may be scarred, but you are very beautiful," she said quietly. "You always have been. It's only natural that James would see it, too." 

"But he's so handsome," Steve protested weakly. "There's no way he could find someone like me attractive." 

"You've seen the pictures." Peggy pointed at her photos. "Luckily he's not looking at you in every shot, because the ones where he is are almost too intimate for me to use for my thesis."

Once again Steve had to agree. The way Bucky was looking at him…

It was the way he'd felt about Bucky since they'd met, but hadn't wanted to admit. Not when he thought Bucky found him ugly and it meant only humiliation and heartbreak. It was still frightening to admit it now. 

"He really thinks I'm attractive?"

Peggy arched one eyebrow. A sure sign that she was losing patience with the conversation. "Steve, either you believe your eyes, or you don't. I'm sorry that accepting that you're not hideously ugly might mean that you need to re-evaluate how others see you, but these pictures do not lie. You are attractive. Both inside and out. It's time for you to recognize it."

Steve let her words sink in. They beat softly in his chest like a butterfly's wings against the inside of a jar. An image began to form in his mind; something to store away for later and look at after he'd faced the reality Peggy's photos presented. 

"I want to see him again," he whispered, both relieved and terrified to confess his longing out loud. 

"Then call him," Peggy said, like it could ever be that simple. 

But then again, maybe it was. 

"Okay," Steve said. He picked up his phone.

* * *

Bucky opened the door for Steve on his second knock.

"Hey," he said, moving aside so Steve could enter. "Thanks for coming over." 

"Thanks for inviting me." Steve smiled at Bucky, and was immediately caught by his dark grey eyes. Bucky was wearing a simple black t-shirt and blue jeans that covered the top of his bare feet. The sleeve of his t-shirt was just long enough to cover the stump of his amputated arm and was fitted enough to show off Bucky's incredible physique. He looked just as gorgeous as Steve remembered. 

It took effort, but Steve was finally able to tear his eyes away to survey the room. It was a small, two-bedroom apartment with a California-style kitchen and a living room barely big enough for a couch and a loveseat. But it was warm and cosy. 

There was a pile of textbooks and a pad of paper with some pens lying on the coffee table and Steve bit his lip. "Am I interrupting?"

"What?" Bucky followed his gaze to the table. "No. I was just studying for finals. But it's okay. I got a few days." 

"Yeah?" Steve moved over to the couch to better look at the text books. They were mostly about Occupational Therapy, with a few anatomy and physiology books and one on cognition for good measure. Steve looked up at Bucky, impressed. 

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm studying to be an Occupational Therapist. I had a couple of great ones who helped me figure out how to do things with only one arm after my accident, and I thought it looked kinda neat, and since I couldn't do construction anymore I figure I might as well do _something_ useful and, you know, give back a little? So then Natasha told me I should apply as a mature student and for some reason I got in even though I barely got my high school…and now I'm rambling." His smile was sheepish. 

"No," Steve said. He stepped closer to Bucky. Close enough that he could reach out and touch the other man if he wanted. "I like to hear about it. About you." 

"I kinda thought you hated me. I kinda thought I'd never hear from you again." 

Steve had to admire Bucky's courage. He'd brought up the elephant in the room before the mythical animal could even get comfortable. But if Bucky could be that brave, so could Steve.

"I thought you thought I was ugly," Steve said. He blushed so hard it felt like his head would burst into flame. 

Bucky was staring at him, grey eyes narrowed in confusion. "You thought I thought you were _ugly?_ For real?"

Steve nodded, face burning. "Everyone always does," he mumbled. 

"Wait. What? People think you’re _ugly?_ What people?" He sounded genuinely upset. Like he wanted to find these people and beat the hell out of them. 

"Everyone." Steve shrugged. "And I get it. I mean I'm so small and skinny and I have this giant scar—"

"No!" Bucky interrupted. "You are _not_ ugly! You're one of the best looking guys I've ever seen." He blushed, a light stain across his cheeks that only made him look sexier. 

"You think I'm good looking?" Steve had seen Peggy's photos, and he couldn't deny the admiration he'd seen visible in Bucky's gaze in the prints. But to hear Bucky say it felt surreal; like a fantasy come to life. "Really?"

"From the second I saw you," Bucky said fervently. "Even before you got naked. I couldn't believe how hot you were. It was so hard for me not to pop a boner the whole time Peggy was shooting." He wrapped his right arm around his middle, resting the stump of his left on it, like he wanted to cross his arms. "I kinda thought that maybe that's why you were mad. Because I was coming on too strong when we were at the gym, and you didn't swing that way." 

"I swing that way," Steve said breathlessly. He moved closer; Pluto sucked into the orbit of the sun. 

Bucky moved towards him as well, so close that he could see the pulse beating in the base of Bucky's throat; as quick and erratic as his own. 

"Do you have a soulmate?" Bucky said quietly. "Because otherwise I'm gonna kiss you." 

"Do it," Steve said.

So Bucky did.

* * *

They ended up in Bucky's bedroom, lying on Bucky' bed. Kissing like they invented it.

Bucky's mouth was both firm and soft as it slanted across Steve's. He tasted like mint and coffee and a sweetness that Steve knew must be Bucky himself. It was also obvious he had a lot of practice kissing.

Steve hoped his total inexperience wasn't horribly obvious as he moved his mouth against Bucky's, trying to follow Bucky's lead while also losing himself in the sensations. It felt incredible, like everything he'd ever heard, but only more amazing because it was _Bucky_ who was kissing _him_ and it was like he'd died and gone straight to heaven.

But then Bucky pulled off his shirt and everything got infinitely better. It was the third time that Steve had seen Bucky shirtless, but unlike the other two times, now Steve had implicit permission to touch. He ran his hands up the hard plains of Bucky's chest, delighting in the smooth skin and rough hair. He felt the sharp edges of Bucky's collarbones as he moved his hands up to his shoulders, and then across to the back of his arms. 

He stopped. 

Bucky paused in his kissing. "You can touch me." 

"Your Hand-Print," Steve said. 

"I want you to," Bucky said against his lips. 

Steve nodded, pressing his forehead against Bucky's. Carefully, he ran his hands down the back of Bucky's arms. And then he felt it.

It was like a bursting of sensation that went from the fingertips of his right hand through his entire body; it felt like being bathed in warm sunshine, or diving into cool water. It was snuggling into blankets on a cold day and eating ice cream on a hot one. It was dancing to a favourite song; falling asleep after a long day; the end of a workout and the beginning of a warm bath. It was every good physical sensation rolled into one and Steve immediately wanted more. 

"Touch me," he gasped, clawing at the buttons of his shirt with one hand without letting go of Bucky's arm with the other. "On my Hand-Print. I need to feel—"

"Yeah, yes, definitely," Bucky said, obviously feeling the same incredible sensation as Steve. They disengaged just long enough for both of them to get more undressed. Steve undid just enough buttons so he could pull off his shirt and undershirt all together over his head, nearly losing his glasses in the process. He shucked his jeans and socks like they were on fire and went to pull off his boxer-briefs. But then he didn't.

Bucky was kneeling on the bed in front of him, completely naked and obviously turned on. But he made no move towards Steve. 

"You okay?" He said softly. 

Steve licked his lips, suddenly unable to meet Bucky's eyes. "I've never done this before," he whispered. 

"I've never had anyone touch my Hand-Print, either." Bucky's smile was shy and proud at the same time. "You were the first." 

"I mean, I've never done _this_ before," Steve said. His gesture took in everything: The bed, their previous activity; their nakedness.

"Never?" Bucky repeated, and then at Steve's nod, Bucky smile broadened. "I get to be your first?"

Steve nodded again, but he still couldn't meet Bucky's eyes.

'C'mere," Bucky said. He lay down and held out his right arm. Steve immediately curled up into him, resting his head on Bucky's chest. He could hear Bucky's heartbeat as it slowed to a comfortable beat, and Steve was very glad he'd put in his hearing aid so that he could experience it. Bucky kissed the top of his head.

"We don't have to do anything right now," Bucky said, chin resting on Steve's crown. "You're worth the wait." 

"I can't believe you're real," Steve murmured against Bucky's chest. 

"Right back atcha," Bucky said, and then: "But I really can't believe that a gorgeous guy like you hasn't been with anyone before. You been waiting for your soulmate?"

"I was really sick for a long time. Until last December, actually, when I had the surgery that fixed my heart. But it's not like I've ever had any offers." 

He felt Bucky shake his head. "I can't believe that." 

"Small and skinny and scarred, remember? Most people think that's pretty ugly." Steve's laugh fell short. 

"You're not ugly—" Bucky sighed. "Steve," he said. "What do you see when you look at my arm?"

Steve knew that Bucky meant his damaged left arm, and not his whole right. He knew exactly how he felt about it; from the first moment he'd seen it. "It's beautiful." 

"Yeah?" He could hear the pleased note in Bucky's voice. "And why do you think it's beautiful?"

"Because it shows you've survived something pretty awful," Steve said truthfully. "And because it's part of you, and you're beautiful, so your arm is, too."

"Thank you," Bucky said. "That's real nice, Stevie. But you know most people don't think that." 

Steve sat up so he could Bucky in the face, totally surprised. "What? But you're gorgeous!"

"A lot of people only see my damaged arm, and not who it's attached to," Bucky said. "That's why I warned you about my prosthesis before we worked out together. Because I wasn't sure if it would freak you out." 

"I wasn't freaked out. I thought it was really cool." 

"I figured that out pretty quick." Bucky grinned at him, but then his expression became serious. "I feel the same way about your scar, Stevie. That shows you survived something pretty awful. Something that could've killed you before I ever got the chance to know you, but you lived, and your scar is proof of that. I love that scar, because of that. And because it's part of you." 

Steve felt his mouth fall open at the sincerity of Bucky's words. He wanted to believe so badly… "But I'm so short," he said instead.

"You're the perfect height for me." 

"But I'm skinny! All my ribs show, and my spine—" 

"You're beautiful," Bucky interrupted. "You're so brave, and decent and so fucking _handsome_ and I can't believe a guy like me gets to hold you in my arms." 

Bucky totally believed what he was saying. Steve could see the truth in Bucky's eyes, just as he could see it in Peggy's pictures. He felt the same fluttering in his chest; but this time it was like the butterfly had escaped the jar and had made its way into the sunlight. He never wanted to feel trapped in that jar again. 

Slowly, Steve got up and went to the side of the bed. He took off his underwear, never dropping Bucky's gaze.

Bucky raised himself up on his forearm. His throat bobbed. "You are so fucking gorgeous Stevie." 

"I want you to touch me," Steve said. His heart was pounding, but his voice didn't shake. He wanted this, wanted _Bucky._ "On my Hand-Print. I really want you to do that." 

Bucky got up and crossed over to where Steve was, coming to rest right in front of him. He gazed down at Steve's body reverently, hand out. "How…how do you want me to touch you?"

"From behind," Steve said, and blushed, but Bucky immediately went behind Steve, standing so close that Steve could feel the heat from his body down his back. 

"Like this?" Bucky move so that his right hand covered Steve's Hand-Print, the palm flat against Steve's groin, with Bucky's thumb and index wrapped around the base of Steve's penis. It felt indescribably good, and Steve was immediately rock hard and leaking. 

Bucky started to stroke him, smooth and firm from his base to tip. 

Steve felt his knees buckle, and blindly he reached out, grasping Bucky's left arm with his left hand. Right on Bucky's Hand-Print, the way it was meant to be touched.

There was an explosion of sensation, like every single one of Steve's nerves fired with pleasure all at once. He'd never felt anything like it, but instinctively he knew what it was; what it meant. 

He heard Bucky groan behind him as he felt the same thing. Bucky's erection pressed against the small of his back and Steve leaned against it, his shoulders resting on Bucky's hard torso. 

"You're my soulmate," Steve gasped, feeling himself shake from the effects of Bucky's hand on his Hand-Print and Bucky's fingers on his cock. "Oh my God, Bucky. You're my soulmate." He laughed, which ended in a moan as Bucky tightened his grip.

"Fuck, Stevie," Bucky breathed. "I was hoping it was you. When I saw that Hand-Print on your cock…It took all I had not to touch it right there." He pumped his hand on Steve's penis, each stroke bringing Steve closer and closer to the edge. 

"I wanted it to be you, too," Steve gulped. "But I didn't think…didn't hope…"

"It's me." Bucky stroked him harder. "And I'm so glad Stevie. So fucking glad it's you." 

"I'm gonna come," Steve panted. 

"Do it," Bucky gasped, and Steve came. Long white stripes of come all over Bucky's hand and his floor. Bucky held him tightly, easing him through it.

Steve laughed weakly, feeling light and buzzed and so, so happy. "That was amazing." He'd touched himself before, but he'd never had anyone else touch him like that. Being touched by his _soulmate_ felt better than he'd even thought possible. It was wonderful.

"Glad you liked it." He could hear the smugness in Bucky's voice, obviously pleased with himself for doing that for Steve, and for being Steve's first. Steve could also feel how hard Bucky was against his back, along with the stickiness of pre-cum where Bucky's erection was against his skin. He wanted to do something for Bucky that would make him feel that good. He turned and dropped to his knees.

"You don't have to do that," Bucky said, but then his words ended in a moan as Steve took him into his mouth.

It was something else he'd never done, and he had no idea what he was meant to do, but he felt so good with Bucky, so safe, that he still wanted to try. Bucky's penis tasted clean and slightly musky and Steve decided it was absolutely delicious. He sucked on the end, enjoying Bucky's vocalizations of pleasure. He did that for a while, then wondered how it tasted all over, so he licked from base to tip, which also proved a hit, so he repeated it a few times. He remembered how good it had felt when Bucky had stroked him, so he did that with one hand, cupping Bucky's balls in the other while he sucked on as much of Bucky's cock as he could fit in his mouth. Bucky was whimpering and thrusting gently against Steve's mouth, his right hand resting on the top of Steve's head, fingers flexing. 

"Gonna come," Bucky said. "Stevie you'd better stop or—"

Steve just smiled and sucked harder, moving his mouth in tandem with his hand. It took only a few more strokes until he felt the hot spurt of Bucky's come hit the inside of his mouth. It was salty and slightly bitter and Steve loved it. He swallowed and smiled up at Bucky contentedly, wiping his mouth with the side of his hand.

Bucky looked like he was barely keeping himself upright. "Damn, Stevie. You sure you've never done that before?"

"I'm a quick study." Steve grinned. He stood and grimaced. "I think I knelt in my come." 

They both laughed and Bucky pulled him into his bed. "We'll clean up later," Bucky said as he draped the sheets over both of them. "But right now I want to cuddle with my soulmate." 

_Soulmate,_ Steve thought. "I like that," he said to Bucky. "That you're my soulmate. I like the sound of that." 

"Me, too." Bucky kissed the top of Steve's head.

"And I like that you call me Stevie." 

"I'll keep doing it, then." 

"I really like you, Bucky," Steve said. He wanted to say _I love you_ but it was probably too soon. 

"I really like you too, Stevie." Bucky hugged him. 

Steve pressed his lips to Bucky's chest, and then rested his head there. He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the sound of Bucky's heart.

* * *

Peggy's thesis project won an award at the annual Senior Undergraduate art show. 

She had ended up using seven different photos, only one of which was of Bucky and Steve together. Steve recognized only one of the other men in the photo series. It was Pepper's boyfriend, Tony, who was standing looking at the lens with his arms crossed. A jagged, mostly circular scar visible above his arms on his chest. He was standing with a man Steve didn't know, who had his back to the camera but was looking over his shoulder towards it. He was striking for his white hair and the obvious bullet wound scars that dotted his back and upper arm. Steve counted at least five. 

Bucky squeezed his hand as Steve stared at the photo, mesmerized by the scars on Tony's chest and the back of the unknown man, and how terribly beautiful they were; how strangely hopeful and so brave. He wondered if other people looked at his and Bucky's photo and saw the same thing. 

"Peggy deserves all the awards," he said roughly. "This work is amazing."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. "She's done an incredible job. But I wanna go look at your paintings now." 

That made Steve smile. "You've already seen them." 

"But not up in the gallery! C'mon!" Bucky tugged at his hand like he was a small child. 

Steve laughed and let his soulmate drag him over to where his paintings were on display, feeling incredibly humbled by how proud Bucky was of him. He was only an artist after all, it was Bucky who'd lost his arm and then decided to dedicate his life to helping others in similar situations. He couldn't believe that Fate had chosen such an incredible man to be his soulmate. He didn't know how he could've been so lucky. 

He rubbed the back of Bucky's left arm, feeling the warm sensation from touching his Hand-Print, even under the layers of cloth and the material of his prosthetic. Bucky had started wearing one more often, and he stated he was enjoying the utility of having a somewhat functional left hand. Steve was just happy that Bucky was feeling more confident in his own skin. Which was something he could definitely relate to.

"Damn, I love these," Bucky murmured as they stopped in front of Steve's portion of the gallery. 

It was a series of five paintings created in the same style as the Baroque period of the 17th century. The first was a portrait of Steve as a child. He'd painted the child wearing a hospital gown with a feeding tube going into one nostril. In the child's hand he'd painted a clear mason jar with a twig and two caterpillars on it. The child held it with a stylized grip, reminiscent of the classical paintings Steve was trying to emulate.

Each of the successive paintings showed a different stage in Steve's life. The next painting was of him as a young teenager, his chest painted as an x-ray showing an outline of his heart. The feeding tube was gone, and instead he had nasal cannulas for oxygen. The teen's expression showed fear and a hint of defiance. The jar still held two caterpillars, but now one was obviously dead. 

The third, fourth and fifth paintings were variations of the previous. Each time he'd painted himself as older, each time there was more information given about his heart, and each time there was a change to the caterpillar in the jar, until it wasn't a caterpillar at all, but a chrysalis and then a hatching butterfly, wet and weak and clinging to the remains of its chrysalis, but alive.

The last painting was of Steve now. He was wearing his glasses, the edge of his hearing aid just visible from the slight turn of his head. He'd painted the thick line of the scar on his sternum, and the jar was still there, but this time the lid was off and the Monarch butterfly was resting on the lip. There was a slight smile on Steve's face, in direct contrast to the sad, weary and frightened expressions he'd worn in the previous paintings. Another man's hand was also in the painting, resting on Steve's right shoulder. The hand's owner out of frame, but making it clear that the Steve in the painting was no longer going through his struggles alone. 

He'd called the series 'anatomy and lepidopterology' and even though he'd handed it in three days late, his professor had given him an A-plus for his work. It was also going to be featured in the university magazine and the campus gallery wanted to put it on display. 

But what meant the most to Steve was what the paintings represented to him. The fact that he was no longer a butterfly in a jar, trapped by his negative self-perception. Thanks to Bucky's love, and friends like Peggy, he'd started to work on his low self-esteem. He'd even been to talk to a counsellor that Natasha recommended, and it was helping. Going to the gym with Bucky helped, too. He still had bad days, where he felt ugly and unworthy, but they were lessening in number and intensity. Things were good.

"You're so fucking talented," Bucky said, still staring at Steve's paintings. "It doesn't matter how many times I look at these, I’m still just blown away by how amazing they are." 

"You're pretty amazing, too." Steve smiled at him.

"Right back atcha, Stevie." Bucky put his arm around Steve's shoulder and pulled him in close. 

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and leaned his head on his chest. He used to hate how short he was until he realized it meant that he could hug Bucky like this. Hugging him like this was perfect. He tilted his head back, gazing into his soulmate's deep gray eyes.

"I love you." 

Those same eyes widened in surprise and delight, crinkling at the corner as Bucky smiled down at him. "I love you, too."

END


End file.
